Lavender On The Wind
by BrighidOTheShire
Summary: Merry wakes to a nightmare on the tramp to Isengard...


**Not mine...:sigh:...Please read and review.**

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Consciousness slammed into Merry with enough force to rock his body. Pain came right alongside. His head was throbbing, and when he opened his eyes all he could see was a curtain of red blood. He brought his shoulder to his face and smeared the gore away. The wind was wailing around his ears, chilling him deep, bringing the dim light of evening with it.

He tried again to wipe his eyes, but his arms would not work. He twisted a bit, realizing with sickening swiftness that his hands were tied behind him. The cords cut against his wrists, slicing a bit deeper with every move. So he lay still again, forcing himself to breathe deep, licking his dry lips with his dry tongue. After a moment, he rolled onto his side. A soft lump yielded to his body and he nudged at it. The lump grunted a bit but did not stir. He could tell from the tangle of chestnut curls that it was Pippin. Dear Pippin. Relief drenched Merry to see he was alive. His relief was even greater to know that he was not alone. While by no means was he glad to see Pippin bound and unconscious…at least they were together.

"Awake, little rat?" The voice was gravelly and low and ugly. Merry rolled back away from Pippin, not wanting to draw him untoward attention. Memory came to him at the sight of the beastly, leering orc, to whom the beastly voice belonged. Into his mind leapt a face and his heart twisted with sadness. Boromir.

"You'll soon wish you wasn't." The orc seized Merry roughly by the chin, twisting his neck and pulling him upright. The orc's hand was sandpapered with callous and rough hair, and his claws bit into Merry's cheeks. "You're in a pretty mess now, my lad." He bit the cork from a filthy-looking flask, and then shoved it to Merry's clenched teeth. Liquid splashed against his mouth. The liqueur burned in his chest and empty stomach, and Merry forgot about the pain in his head for a moment. He recalled it soon enough as the orc dipped some salve from a skin and slapped it against his forehead. Merry heard the rasp of his nails on exposed bone and his eyes rolled back from the sound. Despite his best efforts to contain it, a little yelp of pain escaped him.

"Oh ho, it doesn't like that, now, does it." The orc roughly bound a strip of cloth across Merry's brow and yanked it tight. "You're squeaking now, but just you wait. When we get you to Isengard you'll right wish for my gentle care." He laughed, a horrible and hateful sound. Then he grabbed Merry by the braces and cuffed him in the head, sending stars across his vision. He tasted blood spurt in his mouth as a tooth jiggled loose. He spat it out, trying not to choke, as the orc shook and pummeled him. The bones in Merry's shoulders creaked a bit under the assault, and a sudden sharp pain stabbed across the base of his skull. He could feel a dribble of blood trickle from his nose. The orc abruptly stopped, pulling Merry close, close enough to feel the heat of breath on his face. "Just you wait, little one," he said in a whisper that chilled Merry's marrow. "When we get you to Isengard…they're going to make you scream." With that, he thumped Merry once or twice more, and then tossed him aside. His head bounced against the hard ground, setting his ears to ringing.

Trying to catch his hitching breath, Merry laid his face against the dirt. Emotion swallowed him up for a moment, fear, pain, sorrow at what he had left behind, dread of what was to come. Tears slicked his eyes and he tried to blink them away. "If only Gandalf had been with us, none of this would have happened," he thought. "I would not be lying here, bound, wounded and bleeding, with poor Pip beside me." Merry's grief grew as he thought of Pippin, his closest friend, more brother than cousin. "The poor lad, if only I had forced him to stay in the Shire. He wasn't born to adventuring, lord knew. And it seems that all has gone amiss since we set foot out of the door at Crickhollow. Now we're bound for torture and worse at Isengard, the very place we had taken such pain and loss to avoid." A sob lurched in Merry's chest.

"But on the brighter side…" And suddenly, Merry's heart fell to realize that for the first time since leaving his home at Buckland, he could not see a brighter side. He was always the one with a laugh and a cheering word when things seemed bleak, pshawing danger and providing a comforting hand for the others to hold. Pippin looked to him when fear threatened to overwhelm, and found strength in Merry. But now…he couldn't see it. Merry turned back toward Pippin again, tucking himself against the small warm body of his cousin. Merry needed to feel Pippin near, to remember that he was not alone, so that he did not succumb to the despair that was creeping upon him. But even that closeness couldn't push away the feeling, that visceral dread that was gripping at Merry's stomach.

A light mist had gathered, and as Merry lay there, the sky opened into a downpour. Fat orbs of rain plunked onto his face and hands, cleansing the sticky blood that gummed his eyelashes. Opening his mouth, Merry let the rain wash away the taste of the orc draught. He closed his eyes, and on the wind there suddenly came a familiar smell. It was the sharp scent of lavender, wet with rain. It was the scent of the Shire. In his mind, Merry returned to his study in Brandy hall, the windows open after a fall shower. He could see the drops of rain on the windowpanes, glistening in the light of the moon as it peeked from behind the clouds. It hearkened to mind the long walks he would take in the night, sometimes alone, sometimes hand in hand with Persephone Proudfoot. Together they would traverse the hills, all the while their noses filled with the scent of the lavender that grew wild all over Buckland. They would watch the moon rise, not speaking, just taking in the sight of the hills bathed in cool blue light. They would dream of far off lands, of strange and new countries, of exciting unknown adventure.

Understanding dawned. The strange and new was here. And he must face it, come what may, but with a new goal in mind. "I must face it with the hope of getting back to the very place I wanted to leave behind." Merry set his jaw and draped his arm over Pippin, shutting his eyes against the night. And while his fear did not disappear, it retreated deep inside, pushed away by determination to see his Shire, his home, again.


End file.
